


A Good Luck Tradition

by warpcores



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Vulcan Kissing, what happens in the transporter room may not always stay in the transporter room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warpcores/pseuds/warpcores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you want? A kiss or something for good luck?” </p><p>There was a pause, one that made Jim hold his breath in a blood-pumping, heart-pounding moment that was probably anticipation. Slowly, Spock raised his hand, two fingers extended towards Jim in a secret vulcan embrace that wasn’t so secret, because Jim totally knew about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Luck Tradition

The crew was tense, stiff,  nervous, and glancing at one another when they thought Jim wasn’t looking. He couldn’t help but sigh as he stepped on the Transporter pad, boots clinking against it, smoothing over his golden shirt, feeling the soft material beneath his fingertips. It didn’t feel right on him; it was too tight for his body. Maybe it was just that he was so used to the loose hospital gown, or maybe it was the tee-shirts that felt like they were made from a cloud, comfortable cotton that was all but thrust upon him by Bones, who looked away when he offered the gift. His crew was spoiling him, even if it was slow and drawn out. 

They were also babying him, and it wasn’t so bad with the soft glances he got as he walked around the ship, but insisting that he have an entire team accompany him to a diplomatic meeting was a bit much. It maybe have been the first mission since The Incident, but he could handle it, he had to. If he didn’t get the swing of things the first time around, he never would. 

“Captain,” Spock said quietly, voice low and rousing Jim from his thoughts. His face was much closer than he expected, causing him to stumble back. He had never been more thankful for Spock’s quick reflexes and strong fingers, gripping his arm as if it was a second nature. 

“Yes?” he asked, coughed, really, eyes wide and blinking, pretending he didn’t almost fall on his ass in front of his first officer (not that it mattered, he’s seen so, so much worse.)

“Do you feel adequately prepared for this mission?”

“Yes,” Jim repeated firmly, turning to look at him completely as Spock’s hand dropped from his arm. The few on the security team were bickering a few feet from them, trying to decide who would stay at their captain’s side. Jim was surprised they didn’t all realize it would be Spock, who was three times stronger than they were and insistent on staying at by him at all times. 

Spock, who didn’t look at all convinced, pressed the matter forward, inching even closer to Jim than he was sure Spock was completely comfortable with. He had always wanted his distance before, always (but not quite) glaring at him with every clap on the shoulder. Only very recently did he start leaning into the touch, sometimes even reciprocating, as if the invisible boundary that had kept them apart before had been torn down. His voice was low, hushed as though they were discussing some sort of dirty secret, “If you do not feel prepared, I can go down alone—”

“I’m fine, Spock.” They locked eyes, and Jim felt as though something inside him was burning, making it hard for him to breathe, taking all of the air from his lungs and filling it with something else, something frightening and different and new. “Why are you up on my ass about this?”

“I am simply concerned, Jim.”

And fuck, fuck, fuck. Jim couldn’t help but feel guilty at the genuinity in his tone, and it made him reel back, swallowing thickly before answering, “About what? C’mon Spock, we’ve got this. What do you want? A kiss or something for good luck?” 

There was a pause, one that made Jim hold his breath in a blood-pumping, heart-pounding moment that was probably anticipation. Slowly, Spock raised his hand, two fingers extended towards Jim in a secret vulcan embrace that wasn’t so secret, because Jim totally knew about it. 

He tore his gaze from his fingers back to Spock’s eyes, trying to find some sort of emotion in there that could help him out, but all he saw was an eager insistence. “I thought luck was illogical.”

“Perhaps I am simply taking advice from a wise  man who knows much more about me than I do, myself.” His mouth was set in a thin line, one that showed Jim that he was going out on a limb here, taking a chance and trying not to question it, whether for Jim’s sake or his own, Jim wasn’t sure. 

Without a second thought, Jim pressed his fingers to his, eyebrows rising at the tingling sensation it gave him. His mind, which was once filled with doubt, was now buzzing with confidence he was sure wasn’t entirely his own.

Stepping back and onto his small, individual platform, Jim let out a breath and felt as though he could take on the world.

* * *

 Somehow, good luck kisses before a mission became something of a clandestine tradition between them. 

Jim sometimes wondered if it was weird, kissing his vulcan first officer in the way of his lost people, but so many things have happened to him, to them, to his ship and his crew and their lives, that it felt natural. If it calmed him, and it calmed Spock, and it helped them perform optimally on their missions, how weird could it be?

That was Spock’s reasoning, not that they talked about it. What happened in the Transporter room stayed in the Transporter room, it was the unspoken rule between them. There was a line that they were balancing on, one they couldn’t cross. 

“Ready to go, Captain?” Scotty asked, tone and expression cheerful. It was an easy mission, one that had an almost one-hundred percent survival rate. Nobody was worried, not even Spock, who over-analyzed and criticized everything, already striding into the room, hands at his sides. His uniform was blue and smooth and perfectly in place. As he passed Jim on his way to his usual spot on the pad, his fingers brushed Jim’s own, and though he felt more of his sleeve than anything else, Jim couldn’t help but join him and give his orders with a wide grin and sparkling eyes.

* * *

 Jim wasn’t sure when he started looking forward to away missions. He wasn’t sure when Spock’s vulcan kisses made butterflies swarm in his stomach, or made his cheeks heat up with blood. He wasn’t even sure when he started thinking that  _bowl cuts_  looked  _good_. All he knew was that one day, one little, random, ordinary day, he started wishing for kisses all the time, and started wishing that they would  _linger_. 

It didn’t matter what kind of kiss it was. He liked human kisses, like the way he could press his body against another, hot lips and tongues clashing together in a frenzying battle of control. But there was something about vulcan kisses, something intimate… it was something that only belonged to him and Spock, and he liked that. Maybe it was his possessive side. He didn’t want them to stop, didn’t want them to snap back into reality and realize that they couldn’t do this, that they had boundaries, that this was a big no-no and they should stop while they could, before they ruined things. (Before  _Jim_  ruined things.)

But sometimes… sometimes Jim was sure that Spock kept their fingers touching longer than usual, longer than the social norm. Jim’s looked up vulcan kissing, spent hours trying to find the few texts there were on it. Vulcans were such a secretive race, and Jim liked being in on it. 

He could, however, count three occasions in which he was absolutely certain Spock wanted to kiss him, too. Jim tried to forget those times, tried to forget the dark and greedy look in his eyes, tried to forget the small sparkle of admiration and something else that sometimes showed. He tried, he always tried, but sometimes it wasn’t enough. He was good at everything he did, but for once, he was out of his depths, and he wasn’t sure if he minded. 

* * *

 “Captain,” Spock argued, voice harsh and clipped in a way that Jim knew was slightly panicked, “I cannot allow you to do this.” He rushed behind him, picking up his pace to catch up with him, his hand grabbing Jim’s shoulder, fingers digging in so deeply he was sure there would be bruises. 

Jim was hit with such a sense of deja-vu that it made him dizzy, bringing him back to all those months ago, and he had to stop in the middle of the walkway to get a hold himself. Spock seemed to realize his mistake, because he pulled away as though he had been burned, and Jim knew he had no problem touching him. 

“Jim,” Spock said, his voice quieter, softer, more desperate, “ _please_.”

“I have to, Spock,” he countered, though his voice was just as quiet, just as soft. “There are lives at risk.”

“Let me accompany you.”

Jim shook his head, “Even with the both of us, the chances of returning are slim.You have to stay here, you have to watch the ship and keep the crew safe. I can do this.”

“You  _cannot_.” There was a fire in Spock’s eyes that Jim had never seen before. “This is an illogical decision and I will not watch as you manage to kill yourself again.”

“It’s not illogical,” Jim said angrily, finally turning to stalk into the Transporter room, Spock in tow. “It’s one of the most logical decisions I’ve ever made, I don’t jump into things like that, Spock. You know me better than that.” Despite the number of people, the room was completely silent.

Jim moved to step on the platform, but Spock grabbed his hand, both of his clinging onto one of Jim’s. It hurt, but Spock was them massaging circles into his skin with his thumbs, not caring who was watching. “Please, allow me to accompany you.”

Jim knew Spock as well as he knew himself; there was no way he was going to fly into this alone. Spock would sooner punch him in the face and declare himself captain of the ship.

“Okay, Spock,” he said finally, second hand resting on both of Spock’s, “okay.”

* * *

 Surprisingly, they survived. 

Scotty beamed them back on board with seconds to spare, and though they were scratched, bruised, and bleeding, they were able to breathe and see and live, and that enough was a gift. 

Bones was there when they got back, yelling at how they were damned idiots who knew nothing about self-preservation, but neither were listening, not even Spock, who often focused on two or more things at once. The second they locked eyes, they moved, all but lunging at each other and pulling into an embrace. A human embrace, one that involved more than just two fingers and sly glances. There were arms and legs and too-tight pulls that left Jim panting and breathless. He’s wanted this, but he never thought he’d get it. 

When he pulled at Spock’s chin and brought their faces together, bringing them into their first human kiss, it felt as though they’ve been doing it for months, and in some way, they were. 


End file.
